A Kiss
by IL0veP0keSpe
Summary: Collection of oneshots where each couple's relationship is sealed with a kiss.
1. A Gentle Kiss

A/N: OMFG I don't know anymore. Well, this is a series of my favorite pairings in Pokémon. Next, I'll be writing one for Fairy Tail. Then…? Oh hell, I have no idea. Well whatever.

By the way there's yaoi here, and although some might find that gross can you blame me? I mean, I'm a closet fujoshi and all so this is natural… wa-oops, shouldn't have said that. Well, whatever. (First is Soulsilvershipping!)

* * *

"Silver."

"Mm?"

"Do you believe in miracles?"

"No."

Lyra pouted and pulled at the redhead's hair. "But why?" she whined. "Don't you realize that we're always surrounded by miracles?" She stood up and twirled, pointing around her as she did so. They were currently in an unnamed forest, one she had discovered in her search for Pokémon.

Silver idly turned a page of the book he was reading. "If you leave me alone, _then_ I'll believe in miracles," he said loftily. He looked at the brunette, who had not heard and was currently playing with a Marill that had bounced up to her. "Anyway, I don't see why we couldn't bring our Pokémon. Then, we could be battling and doing something useful, at least. Why did we have to come here again?" he asked disdainfully. This time, Lyra ignored him, and he suspected that she had done that as well the first time he spoke to her.

"See, that's exactly why I didn't want to bring our Pokémon. You only talk about battles, and that's _boring_. Silver, don't you realize that you are _alive_? That there's so much more to life than just battling?" she said, grumpy. She sat down beside him and leaned against the tree behind them. She snuck a peek at what he was reading and was surprised to see that he was reading Shakespeare.

"I never knew you were interested in literature," Lyra remarked. She stared at the book, absorbing the wonderful portraits of Romeo and Juliet that were in the pages.

"Hey, those are pretty good pictures. What edition is this?" she asked, pointing at a particularly pretty picture of Juliet. Silver looked up from his book and for once, didn't look annoyed. "It's not an edition. What I have here is one of the most original versions. This dates back to the nineteenth century," he replied, turning his gaze upon the written words once more. Lyra said, "Wow," softly. They sat in silence for a while, exactly as Silver wanted it.

"Where did you get it?" Lyra asked suddenly. Literature always bored her, but perhaps if it became something that she could share with Silver, then maybe she could find it a bit more interesting. He looked at her and had a strange expression on his face, as if he couldn't believe she was actually interested in books.

"What?" said Lyra defensively. Silver shook his head, a tiny smile forming on his lips. "Nothing."

He turned his eyes back to his book, read a bit, then answered Lyra's previous question. "This book belonged to my mother." She sucked air in and got quiet. He resumed reading, and before she could think of something to rectify the situation he had finished the book and stood up. Silver stretched a bit, sighed, then looked back at Lyra, who was looking apologetic. "Don't be sorry that you asked—it isn't something I particularly avoid, anyway," he assured her, but she didn't look convinced and she was frowning.

"What are you thinking about now?" he asked, exasperated. "Are you still worried that I might have been offended? You know, if that's what it is, you should forget about it, alright? I'm not mad."

"Oh, no, that's not what I'm worried about," said Lyra. "Then what _are_ you worried about?" asked Silver, getting more and more confused by the minute.

"I'm worried right now about the fact that the only exit in this forest has just caved in, and those rocks are bigger than us, and I can't think how we're gonna get out because this whole forest is inside a deep valley. Oh, and right, we don't have any Pokémon with us right now. Don't worry, Silver," she smiled. "That's all I'm worried about."

"Is that so—what?"

Silver spun around to check that yes, the cave entrance and exit—for this forest, as Lyra said, was in a deep valley surrounded by rocky mountains. The only exit, as she had again said, was blocked with huge boulders, some twice as tall and five times as wide as either of them. And again, as Lyra had said, they had no Pokémon with them to help them get out.

"Lyra—I swear—of all the _stupid _situations you have gotten us in—I told you we shouldn't have left our Pokémon—how are we going to get out—oh, how long are we staying here—_Lyra_!"

Lyra held out her hand and assumed a superior expression. "Calm down, Silver-chan. There's a way out of this, I know there is!"

"And _what_ is that way out, if I may ask, Lyra-sama?" asked Silver scathingly. But Lyra did not answer, for her face was glowing seemingly with happiness and she was smiling mischievously at Silver. "_What_?"

"You called me Lyra-sama! You did, you did! Oh, why didn't I bring my tape recorder? I should've had that recorded down for eternity! Stupid, stupid!"

"Well, at least we agreed on one thing, and it's that you're _stupid_," remarked Silver, and he sat down tiredly beside Lyra again. "I'm going to sleep. Wake me up when we're out of this mess," he said, and he lay down. True to his word, he was asleep in a flash.

The brunette looked at him for a bit, simply because she thought he was cute when he was asleep—for it was when he was asleep that all the frown lines disappeared from his face and he looked more like an innocent, lost child than anything. He breathed slowly, and with each inhalation his mouth opened slightly and she saw that his lips were actually quite pink and soft—she had never seen this before.

She decided to take advantage of Silver's current unconsciousness and examine details of him she had never seen before—or rather, details of him he would never have allowed her to observe.

She looked at his hands and discovered that they were quite soft and smooth—she took them into her own and compared their textures, and she discovered, much to her surprise, that his were much softer, almost like silk. His nails were perfectly shaped little oblongs, and they were cut short and neatly. She laid his hands down and examined his hair next. His hair was much redder than she had ever noticed, and though she had acknowledged it as a dark auburn, she saw now that it was actually quite scarlet—almost like blood, in fact. Lyra knew that Silver had inherited his hair from his mother—she thought that if she could see his mother, she would be the striking image of Silver, and yet would be extremely pretty.

Lyra stroked his hair. It was silky, and no matter what she did, no tangles would form between the scarlet locks of hair. She saw for the first time that they shone in the sun, and that its red hue dyed the light around it into an orange sort of color. She touched his face, and his skin was just like his hands. She gazed at him and thought—and thought—perhaps Silver cared a lot more about his looks than he cared to let on. More than Gold did, certainly.

She moved away from him and he stirred in his sleep. Lyra froze, scared that she might be discovered—but Silver merely rolled over and said one word before sinking back into his sleep. "_Mother_."

Lyra made a soft sound. This was the very first time that she ever felt fully sympathetic with Silver—he loved his mother, though he had never seen her. In a way, this situation was a _miracle_—she was learning more about Silver than she ever could have when he was awake.

After her thorough examination of him, Lyra began to feel self-conscious—when was the last time she had combed her hair? She ran her fingers through the tangled masses and sighed. Her lips were chapped as well—she hadn't paid much attention to them before. And her hands—from all the searching in the tall grass, her hands had grown quite rough. She felt them and compared the texture to rough canvas. Very unlike Silver's own soft hands.

She felt ashamed that a boy who definitely spent more time outside than her and in harsher conditions was able to take better care of himself than she could with herself. Silver had everything down pat and all Lyra could think about was Pokémon.

Suddenly, she felt like a hypocrite—she had told Silver only just earlier that he only thought about battling. She had just been proven wrong. She had seen him, with friends, laughing—he, the son of Team Rocket's boss! And though he did not know it, she had seen him playing with a lost Azurill—so tenderly he had smiled! While she, she only had one friend—him! Oh, what a fine situation she was in, preaching the opposite of what she was doing.

She sat down harder on the firm ground and resolved not to move until Silver woke up, which, thankfully, was only a few minutes later. Lyra was quite surprised that he had not woken up during her inspection of him.

"How long was I out?" he asked, sitting up, surprisingly alert for someone who had just woken up. "Oh, just a little over twenty minutes," replied Lyra lightly.

He yawned. "Felt longer than that," he remarked, but he got up and looked again at the blocked exit. "Hm… something seems off about those boulders." He walked over to the exit and gingerly touched one of the huge stones. The entire pile seemed to shift slightly. "Hey, this isn't stone at all!" he said suddenly. "This is steel!" He rapped on the same stone again and the whole thing rumbled. The biggest stone, which had been out of view, suddenly rose up, and turned towards Silver—it was not a pile of boulders at all, but a Steelix. The Steelix had been asleep, like Silver, and now it yawned. It seemed to take in that it was blocking the whole crevice and was startled as well to see a human standing so close to it. It let out a loud moaning sort of sound, then dug its way underground and disappeared, leaving the exit open.

Silver turned to Lyra, his expression smug. "Well, I believe that _you_ owe me one, Lyra!" he said, maddeningly superior.

She rolled her eyes. "Like _anyone_ else couldn't have figured out it was a Steelix!" she scoffed.

She grinned though, and she picked up both their bags and hurried over to him. "Well, there's another good thing about us not having Pokémon right now," she said.

Silver snorted. "_Another_? What was the first one, I wonder? Oh, right, _nothing_!" he said sarcastically, but he waited to hear what Lyra would say. "Well, since we can't fly back to town—I get to walk with you all the way home!" beamed Lyra. She took his hand in her own and swung it around, like they were two kindergarteners who might get lost if separated. "What's great about that?" asked Silver doubtfully, but he did not withdraw his hand.

Lyra smiled knowingly, and as he made another sound of annoyance she tiptoed up to reach his face—he was five inches taller than her, a fact that annoyed her—and she kissed him, her chapped lips pressing on to his soft, smooth ones. She broke away first, leaving Silver surprisingly calm-looking, his face no redder than it was before.

"Your lips are chapped—" was all he said, and holding her hand they walked through the exit, carefully walking around the burrow the Steelix had left.

Lyra felt happy, fulfilled, and she did right now believe that there were miracles—she resolved to badger Silver about this tomorrow.

"Silver."

"Mm?"

"I told you there are miracles."  
On second thought, why wait?

* * *

A/N: Oh gosh, it's done. Well that's the first story. The next one is AgencyShipping. Please continue reading!


	2. A Binding Kiss

A/N: AgencyShipping. That's all I'm going to say. Now read.

* * *

"Prez, are you _sure_ we're going in the right direction? Maybe the sandstorm is messing your vision up—"

"Shuddup! We're _not_ lost, we _are_ going in the right direction, and the sandstorm is _not_ affecting my vision! Now please shut up, so I can see where the next turn is."

A president and her employee were fighting to get through a vicious sandstorm—and although the employee, in this situation, was probably—no, definitely more learned than the president, the latter was the one leading them.

Black, the employee, sighed as he looked at the struggling effort of White, the president, in front of him. She could hardly stand up without occasionally falling back on him, and yet she still claimed to be "in control" of the situation. Meanwhile, Black looked up and saw that night was falling fast—visibility was a must when traversing a sandy desert route in a sandstorm, and right now he couldn't see ten paces in front of him—in fact—where was the President?

"Prez? Prez? White, where are you? Did you fall in a ditch again?" called Black, referring to an incident earlier in which White had fallen into a sandy hole she had missed. A muffled sort of cry answered him, and looking directly in its direction he found that she had indeed fallen into another ditch. "Black! Help me up, darn it!" she shrieked up, panicking because Sandiles were starting to gather around her. He sighed and held out his hand, which she hurriedly took. He pulled hard and immediately got her out of the hole, right before the curious Sandiles took a bite out of the strange thing that had fallen down their hole.

The disgruntled President sat down on the ground, panting, and right then Black felt sorry for her—albeit a little annoyed, for it was she who kept getting herself into her own messes.

"Prez," he began, looking serious. "I really doubt we'll make it to Nimbasa by tonight, so why don't we let War fly us back to Castelia, and we'll try again tomorrow?"

She looked at him, panting again, then looked at her knees, which were covered with scratches and filthy with mud and sand. Then she nodded meekly, watched silently as Black released War, his Braviary, and allowed herself to be carried onto his back. White was silent throughout the trip, and she did not say anything until she and Black were in their double room in the Castelia Pokémon Center.

"What's up, Prez? You've been really quiet this whole time," remarked Black, who was changing in the bathroom. He was about to put his nightshirt on when he heard a sort of sniffling sound. He hurriedly went out, forgetting that he was not wearing anything from the waist up.

White was lying down on one of the two beds, and she was crying. Not just a few tears—the sort of crying that was more sobbing, with loud breaths and lots and lots of tears. Her shirt was soaked from her tears, and it was rather amazing that she had cried this much in such little time, for when Black had first heard her—five seconds ago—she was only sniffling, but now—five seconds later—she was crying.

Black dashed in front of White, again, quite forgetting that he was naked from the waist up. "Prez! What's wrong, why are you crying?" asked Black concerned. White opened her eyes briefly and continued sobbing. "I—feel—so—useless!"

"What—?"

"I couldn't lead us—through Route 4—I got us lost—I fell into holes—I kept pretending I was fine—and it took us such a long time—and in the end, we had to—we had to fly back—back to Castelia—oh, I'm so useless! I have—I have no right—to call myself—to call myself President of the—the BW Agency!" she stuttered in broken sentences. "I almost got bitten by _Sandiles_!"

Black privately thought that this _was_ a particularly stupid—but not necessarily useless—thing to do, but he decided to keep that to himself. "Look at me," he said gently to White. "You're not useless. You saved me from a huge debt, you are the President of a successful agency, and you tried your best to lead us through that route. Those things are not useless, okay? And neither are you."

White continued crying for a bit, hiding her face behind her hands. Black patted her head the whole time.

"Thanks, Black," she sniffled lightly. Then she peeked slightly out from her hands, and from the short space, Black could see that her face was red. "But—you do realize you aren't wearing a shirt, don't you?"

Black looked down at his torso and seemed to take in for the first time that he had indeed left his nightshirt at the bathroom. His body was surprisingly well-developed, for a fourteen-year-old, at least—not that, White reflected, she would know much about that sort of thing.

He flushed bright red and ran back to the bathroom, leaving White in a storm of giggles and clutching at her stomach. She wished she could have taken a picture of the expression on his face! Oh, that would've been absolutely _priceless_. Her giggles ended and she started to feel embarrassed for wanting to take a picture of Black without his shirt on. "Stupid! Stupid! Why did I even think that?" said White aloud, and she beat herself slightly on her head. Black came out then, fully clothed—thank Arceus for that—and surprised to see that _this_ time, White was hitting herself.

"Prez! Why are you hitting yourself? Are you still depressed about what happened earlier?" he chided her. White rolled on her bed and ended up facedown. "No. It's something else," she replied, her voice slightly muffled and her expression hidden—that was for the better, for her face looked something like a tomato.

"I'm going to change now—" she said, rising up from her bed, her face mercifully clear of any crimson hue. Black shrugged the moment's strangeness off and went over to his own bed, falling backwards on it and deeply appreciating how soft it was. He rolled around a bit—looking like a kid, but he either didn't know or care—and after he finished with that he grabbed his pillow and started tossing it up, trying to catch it each time with one hand. The bed was very comfortable, the night was cool, and the dim yellow light from the lamp all made it so very nice—the pillow was looking inviting and he didn't want to play anymore…

When White came out of the bathroom, dressed in a pale pink nightgown and with her hair loose, Black was fast asleep, curled up on his bed. He was completely silent, and if White had not known better she would've thought he was dead or had passed out.

She strode over to her bed and jumped on it. Unbeknownst to Black, she _had_ heard him playing around—he probably didn't realize how loud he was being. She had to laugh at how childlike he was, despite being the contrary whenever they were on the field.

White pulled her blankets over her and fell asleep, unknowingly thinking about how cool Black had looked when he pulled her out of the hole…

When White woke up the next morning, she got quite a shock—Black wasn't in his bed. "Black? Black! Where are you?" she called out, perhaps he was just in the bathroom. When no answer came, she looked around her surroundings more carefully. His bed was made—his things were gone—there wasn't a trace of him left in the room.

White began to panic. Where could he be? Could he have—could he have _left_ her? Did her uselessness finally register in his mind, and he decided after all that he couldn't work for her, much less travel with her? She took out her Bubu, her little Tepig, from its Pokéball. It may have seen something during the night. "Bubu," White began, trying to keep her voice steady, "do you know where Black went?" The little Pokémon gave the answer she was unconsciously expecting—that is to say, no.

She sat down on the bed and returned Bubu to its Pokéball. What, she thought, were the possibilities? What could have happened?

Poor White, however, was in such a state of panic that the one scenario that kept returning to her head was that Black had gone on without her. Perhaps he was in Nimbasa now—the trip there was definitely easier without taking care of his idiot of a president. Maybe, in fact, without her interfering and making him work, he might have already beaten Elesa and was celebrating—without her…

"Prez!"

She looked up, hardly daring to believe it.

There was Black, smiling his usual smile, in his full clothes, but without his cap on. White looked around, and saw that his cap was still on his nightstand—in her anxiety, she must have missed it. "Why did you leave your cap?" she asked, pointing to it. Black looked at the direction in which she was pointing and saw his hat.

"Oh—well that's because I left without waking you up, and I thought you might get worried, so I left the cap to let you know that I was coming back," he explained. Then he smiled. "What, did you think I left you?"

White gave him a deadpan stare and nodded. Black pretended that he had been shot through the heart. "Ouch! Prez, what exactly do you think of me? Do you think I'm so bad that I would leave you behind? Come on! Why would I do that? Without prior notice," he added under his breath, but she didn't hear. "What do I think of you?" she murmured.

"I think that you are absolutely _inconsiderate_—_love to make me worry_—_irresponsible_—_incorrigible_—oh, you idiot! I thought—I thought—I thought you were tired of me being useless—and that you finally left…"

"Oh, Prez!" sighed Black. "If it wasn't for the fact that I owe a huge debt to you I would've called you a drama queen—but there! I think I just did—anyway, you might be a pain to have around sometimes, and you _are_ kind of dramatic—but all in all, there's no one I'd rather have as a traveling companion."

White sat in silence. The employee shifted slightly. "Well, what was so important then, that you had to leave without waking me up?" asked the president.

"Oh, right, that!" exclaimed Black, clapping his hand on his forehead. He rummaged in his bag and brought out a little case with frosted glass—and from within it, drew out two perfectly shaped ice cream cones. "Casteliacones! See, I had to leave early or they would've sold out. The nice lady gave me this free case to keep the ice cream from melting—anyway, I thought these might cheer you up!"

He held out one of the soft-serve ice cream cones to White, starting on his own as he did so. She accepted it quietly and started licking it as well. Black obviously forgot everything he had just put her through and thought that the moment was over—but no, _she_ was still dwelling on it.

"What do you think? It's really good, isn't it?" remarked Black happily. "I'm really glad I woke up just to get it! I can understand why it's so popular—but I don't understand why they make only a dozen a day, that's just mental—Prez?"

For White had started tearing up again. She shook, getting hiccups—this situation would have been cute if you were only a spectator—and her face was scrunched up and covered in tears.

"Prez? What's the matter again? Are you sad this time that you jumped to conclusions? Or is it because you're still kinda off from thinking I left you?" asked Black, exasperated, and showing a flash of insight that was not to be expected of him. White nodded.

"Look, I'm getting the feeling here that unless we do something that _guarantees_ I won't leave you, we're not getting any peace. Or, at least, makes you _feel_ I'm not leaving," he added that last part under his breath again, and White didn't hear, but she looked up at him. "Well—_hic_—what could we—_hic_—do then?"

"That's a really good question, and I'm going to think about that right now."

Black sat down and started to think. White stared at him, for this was the first time she had seen him think seriously without requiring Musha, his Munna, to clear his mind of unnecessary thoughts. Which rather offended White, for to her it seemed her problems were not significant enough to require much thinking.

"Well, I've got an idea," Black said suddenly, "although I'm not sure if it'll be something you'll be fully willing to do." White looked at him, squinting through her still-flowing tears. "Why, what is it?" she asked, uneasy. Black still looked deep in thought, although she was getting the impression he was just pretending to _look_ deep in thought.

"Are you sure you won't get mad?"

"Not unless you tell me what it is."

"Are you _sure_?"

"_Yes_."

"Because I really don't want to get hit—"

"Oh, darn it Black, just tell me what you're gonna—"

He kissed her. Not on the cheek, or on the forehead, but on the lips, a good, proper kiss—a surprisingly good one for someone who was supposedly doing it for the first time.

They broke apart and Black smiled. "Well, now that you have my first kiss, and I have yours—it _is_ your first kiss right? Because what I did would've been useless if it wasn't—anyway, now, why would I leave you?"

White sat perfectly still. Then she said, quietly, "Alright, I believe you. But you still need to promise. You won't leave me—ever?" Black looked at her like you might a precocious child and smiled at her fondly. "Of course."

And White wrapped her arms around his neck and they kissed again, and this time, they both really felt it—there was no way they would leave each other.

* * *

A/N: Well, that's finished. Next is HaughtyShipping.


End file.
